Unrequited
by TruthUniversallyAcknowledged20
Summary: As a time traveler, the Doctor can of course visit many different periods - but how about fictional characters? Find out what happens when the Doctor and Martha cross paths with Elizabeth and Darcy. Having both recently been rejected by the one they love, Darcy and Martha share their troubles...but can more than just a friendship emerge?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large blue box must be in want of a companion. Or so Martha Jones had thought. She was finding recently that every adventure she shared with the Doctor was only proving how wrong she had been. He was becoming more and more withdrawn, a shadow, and she could not understand why. His references to Rose, which never failed to twist her heart out of shape, were becoming more frequent - and more pained. It was not a companion he needed, it was simply Rose - and though Martha tried, she was painfully aware that she was never quite enough. The consciousness of this, as well as the Doctor's stunning obliviousness when it came to her feelings for him, was constantly building up, but never quite seemed to reach boiling point.

The morning she finally snapped appeared, on the surface, no different from any other. The strange pattern of domesticity – if it could be called that – which she had become used to in the TARDIS was underway as normal. The Doctor was always the first up, sitting swigging tea and directing his usual nonsense at her as soon as she stumbled half-awake into the kitchen. He always looked as though he had been there for hours – and sometimes she suspected he had, if indeed he ever slept at all. His bright smile would always be in place, and he seemed perfectly relaxed – too perfectly. If there was one detail which made Martha conscious of the fact that his apparent exuberance was a constant façade, it was that. Not that she needed details like that to see the strain in his eyes, not to mention the weariness hidden in his gaze. She was in love with the man after all, which had made her an acute observer of the smallest changes in his body language and expressions – not that it had ever done her any good.

Martha was halfway through her second cup of coffee (she generally needed at least three in the morning before she could even come close to the Doctor's level of manic activity), when he dropped the bombshell.

'How would you fancy paying a visit to Elizabeth and Darcy today?'

His question, asked with a degree of forced nonchalance which was already enough to make Martha suspicious, caused her to narrow her eyes at him.

'Sure, Doctor. I may not be an expert on time travel, but I don't think it includes meeting _fictional_ characters.'

He smirked at her, that sideways grin that always made her catch her breath – at first in admiration, then in annoyance at herself for being so easily swayed. 'Ah, but that's just where you're wrong. You see, they're not actually fictional. Clever woman, Jane Austen, but not as imaginative as people give her credit for – she based the entire plot on a couple she knew. Not identical to Darcy and Elizabeth of course, but extremely similar. Resourceful, she was, and a lovely lady besides…had a bit of a thing for me actually. I told her it would never work, what with me being a time-travelling alien, but she was still rather resentful…'

Martha knew she should be concentrating on the discovery of the existence of literature's most celebrated couple, but her attention was focused on a rather different point.

'You…had an affair…with Jane _Austen_?'

'Not exactly. But she never forgave me for refusing. I _believe_ she later based the character of Willoughby on me, with the replacement of the alien part for general extravagance and insincerity. Probably a more believable fault.'

'Right. Fine. Good.' Martha had long ago given up being shocked by the majority of the Doctor's revelations. 'So why do you want to visit Elizabeth and Darcy then?' she asked, impressing herself with her matter-of-fact tone.

'No particular reason. Nothing else to do really.' Martha was surprised at his suddenly shifty look and evasive response.

'Go on Doctor, tell me,' she encouraged, deeply curious now.

'Just fancied a bit of a trip down memory lane,' he replied casually – too casually.

'So you've been before then?' Martha was used to having to pry information out of him (useful information at least – he always had plenty of the useless but interesting variety to offer), so his reticence didn't faze her very much.

'Yeah.' He was suddenly staring intently at the nearby coffee jar, despite not drinking the stuff, which was what set alive certain suspicions within Martha.

'…With Rose?' she asked, half-reluctantly. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer, but she couldn't not ask, not now that she suspected what was behind his sudden desire for a trip to the nineteenth century – a time period he had never shown the slightest interest in before now.

'That's right.' As always when his previous companion was mentioned, his eyes regained that spark of life they had contained when she first met him. It was difficult to watch, and even more difficult to know that she could never provoke that reaction in him, no matter how hard she tried. 'We went with Captain Jack Harkness, and Bingley was actually rather taken with him. Not a huge surprise really, as Jack charms everyone he meets - but good old Jane Austen never gave a hint that Bingley was batting for the other side, did she? Typical authors, have to twist all the characters to fall in line with their plot ideas.'

The Doctor was off on a tangent again, but that was nothing new.

'And Mr. Bennet was rather taken with Rose, treated her like another daughter. She has a lot in common with Lizzie, you know – '

'Doctor!' Martha's raised voice suddenly broke through his monologue, and he turned to look at her in slight surprise. She wasn't often so abrupt – he could count on one hand (probably one finger) the amount of times she had shouted at him, excluding life-threatening situations of course.

But just because Martha rarely expressed her resentment didn't mean she didn't feel it, and the emotions she had been keeping suppressed for so long were rising slowly but steadily to the surface. She tried to gulp back the words before they emerged, but it was too late.

'Can't we have even _one_ conversation where you don't bring up Rose Tyler?'

The Doctor made no response, other than a slight furrowing of his brow, which only served to infuriate her more.

'Sometimes I feel like she's more present in this ship than I am! And, Doctor, she's gone. You need to let her go. You need to move on!'

The Doctor swallowed, and she could see that her words had hit the mark. Martha had imagined that she knew the Doctor quite well, and she had envisaged this scenario enough times that she thought she would be able to predict his reaction. But she was mistaken.

His expression of hurt melted away so quickly she could not be sure it had ever existed, and was replaced immediately by a look of chilling anger. The expression was not new – she had seen it enough times, directed at anyone who had been foolish enough to stand in his way or threaten the safety of the planet, but never before had it been focused on her. Martha Jones was a brave woman in many respects, but to fail to be intimidated by the Doctor when he looked like that would have been more than courage – it would have been insanity.

'Don't, Martha. Just don't.' Simple words, but spoken in a tone of such cold finality. 'It's not a subject open for discussion. Not now, not ever.'

But Martha was not so easily deterred, despite the frantic drumming of her heart, despite her fear, despite his anger. She had to know the truth. She had to know whether she meant anything to him at all, or whether she was just a useful accessory, a convenient helpmate – a role which anyone could fulfil.

'Why not?'

His rage at her simple question was palpable. At first it seemed as if he was going to refuse to answer, then the words appeared to explode from him in a shower of fury and frustration.

'Because it's nothing to do with you, because she is too important to me, and because you have no right to even ask!'

Martha opened her mouth. Then closed it again. All her resentment and anger, which had been keeping her words flowing, had fled, replaced only by helplessness. He wasn't listening. He wasn't even seeing her, not truly. And he never would. Not whilst Rose was still alive in his memory, competing for his attention and winning without effort, without consciousness, without even being aware that Martha existed.

The pain which was always waiting in the background - a constant, quiet hum ready to take her over at any moment - invaded her body once more, forcing it into submission. Her fingers trembled slightly and her breath sped up, but she refused to let the Doctor see what he had the power to do to her. Not this time. For once, she would be strong. She wouldn't let him in. But most of all, she would act. To stop him from seeing how much he had hurt her. After all, she still had her pride, as little of it as there was left.

She forced herself to wait a couple of minutes, pretending to calm her anger, then she sighed. 'You're right, Doctor. I'm sorry, it's none of my business.'

The effect on him was instant. His face, which had been slowly turning red, returned to its usual pale hue, and his eyes and mouth relaxed. He let out a deep sigh of his own and a small smile curved his lips up into a half-moon. 'Good.' After a short pause he added, 'So, what do you reckon? Regency?'

'Lead the way, Doctor.'


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to frostedflakes for the review of Chapter 1, I'm so glad you liked it! I'm not usually keen on Martha either to be honest, but I thought I'd explore her character a bit!**

Chapter 2

Fitzwilliam Darcy marched away from the grove where he had handed Miss Bennet his letter, his strides getting longer and his breath coming faster as his mind whirled out of control. He was angry, he was bitter, he was confused – but most of all, he was hurt. A multitude of emotions which he hadn't felt since his father's death, so long ago now. Elizabeth's words (no, Miss Bennet's – she would never now grant him the right to call her by her Christian name) from the previous day had knocked the breath out of him, and he struggled to understand. What had he done to make her despise him so much? Her rejection was more than just a romantic disappointment – it had dealt a blow to a self-confidence and pride which he had always possessed, ever since childhood. She had rocked the very foundations of who he was. And he hated her for it.

Was there any justice to her accusations? She was mistaken about Mr. Wickham, of course. A wave of self-righteousness washed over him. She had misjudged him completely, failed to understand his character - failed to even try to do so. And she had dared to condemn him for his honesty, for the truths about her family which could not be denied, and which were in fact so relevant to his suit? As for his other supposed failings, he could not deny that he had separated Bingley from her sister, but he had acted from the best motives, which she had not even attempted to consider.

His anger overwhelmed him for a few moments and he took a certain sort of perverse satisfaction in it. He was in the right; that could not be questioned. Her accusations were based on false premises, stemming from her prejudice against him, which had seemingly been formed in the earliest moments of their acquaintance. And she had the audaciousness to condemn him for pride, when she possessed a failing which was far more injurious.

And yet…could there be a grain of truth contained in her allegations? He was forced to admit to himself that his behavior upon first meeting her had not been entirely admirable. He had insulted and belittled her, barely giving her a second glance, and flatly refused to stand up with her. Her resentment was perhaps understandable under the circumstances. But she was so far beneath him – was it so unforgivable for him to wish not to become involved? And as for dancing, he simply loathed it. Surely there was no law against that.

But he had been raised to comport himself as a gentleman, and his behavior at that ball had undeniably been ungentlemanly. To insult a lady went against his upbringing, and the image of his father's reaction had he been alive to hear Miss Bennet's berating him struck him forcibly. He couldn't help but feel ashamed, and he wondered how this thought had not occurred to him before. And if this failing in his behavior had escaped him, what else could he have missed?

Ungentlemanly. The word rang in his head as he recalled Miss Bennet's reaction to his proposal. '…Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.' He winced involuntarily at the memory and a flush spread swiftly across his face. Had she been correct? Regardless of her connections, he ought to have treated her with respect, as he had been taught to do, no matter what somebody's situation in life. Worse than that, he had claimed to love her whilst insulting her and the people she held dear. Surely that provided adequate grounds for her fury!

His anger at her fled in an instant, converted immediately to self-recrimination. He had behaved in an unforgivable manner – little wonder that she despised him. She had the right to do so. Darcy had never doubted the correctness of his attitudes towards others, nor his behavior to those of a lower class. Yet now he was reduced to questioning everything he had once held to be certain about himself and his own capacities. He felt as if he had been torn from everything that had once tethered him to reality, left adrift in uncertainty.

What's more, the relinquishment of both his anger and his certainty left room for other, even more undesirable feelings to move in. The sense of pain and rejection, the heartbreak which had been kept at bay until now by his other preoccupations, returned in full force. Hopelessness washed over him. He would never have the chance to win Miss Bennet's heart, never have the chance to spend a lifetime with her, never hear her call him by his given name. His love burned as strongly as it had immediately prior to his impulsive proposal, but now it was tinged with despair and the pain of the unrequited. It truly did burn, and he could hardly bear it. His dearest, loveliest Elizabeth…yet she would never be his. _Could_ never be his.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**A/N: Shout out to Anna W. Tolstoy - thank you so much for your reviews, I really really appreciate them! Most of this chapter had already been written, but I will definitely bear your comments in mind for the next chapter :)**

The Tardis materialized amidst the hills of nineteenth century England with its usual screech, startling a pair of nearby owls, but otherwise making little impression on the peace of the surrounding countryside. Its owner's head appeared suddenly around the side of the door, his eyes narrowed in concentration and his mouth set in a slight frown, which cleared the moment he recognized his surroundings.

'I did it, Martha! We're here!'

'Well, finally. Took us long enough,' his companion grumbled with a hint of her usual humor, though it took an effort to keep the façade in place.

'Ah, come on!' the Doctor rejoined quickly. 'We simply took a little detour. All part of the plan, of course.'

'Part of the plan to nearly get eaten by those creepy ten-eyed aliens?'

'Not my fault that their planet is called Austen. It was an easy mistake to make.'

Martha merely rolled her eyes, and the Doctor looked a little sheepish. 'Anyway,' he continued. 'We're here now – in the grounds of Longbourn itself. Let's go and explore!'

* * *

After an hour of fruitless wandering through a succession of fields which seemed to bring them no closer to the house, Martha gradually became suspicious.

'Doctor…are you absolutely positive that this is Longbourn?'

'Of course!' replied the Doctor quickly – perhaps a little too quickly.

He left an overly casual pause before inquiring nonchalantly, 'What makes you ask?'

'Well, I'm no expert, but the grounds seem a little too large for Longbourn.'

The Doctor frowned slightly and opened his mouth to reply, but at that very moment the house finally came into view. His ready assurance died in his throat, replaced by a small 'ah' of sudden comprehension.

Martha's eyes rounded and an unintentional smile crept across her face. 'That's Pemberley! …We're at Pemberley!'

'We do seem to be, yes,' admitted the Doctor, a little shamefaced.

'But that's even better! God, I can't wait to meet Darcy,' grinned his companion.

'Shall we find out if he's in then?'

'We can't just march up to the door and demand to see him!'

'Why not? This is me, marching up.'

'Doctor, slow down!' Martha yelled after his swiftly retreating figure. 'No monsters, no aliens, so perhaps we could _not _do the running thing for once?'

'No aliens, eh? What makes you so sure?'

Martha could only stare at him in shock as he took off again in an instant, leaving her no choice but to sprint after him. Laughing softly to herself at his characteristically surprising and sudden revelation and intent on her pursuit, she completely failed to notice the gentleman in her path until it was too late. The Doctor's latest companion collided with the rather shocked-looking Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, throwing them both to the ground.

* * *

Darcy had just returned from his habitual morning ride – an activity which generally served to clear his head, but seemed to have no effect when a certain Miss Elizabeth Bennet was the one occupying it. The close to two months since he had seen her last had done nothing to allow her picture to fade from his mind, nor to diminish his sense of loss. He could still see her before him, her lively brown eyes sparking and lips slightly parted, ready to deliver her latest witticism….or condemnation. The knowledge of her ill opinion of him still pierced Darcy with fresh pain whenever he thought of it, but his determination to attend to her reproofs remained unabated. It was highly likely that he would never see her again, yet he longed for the chance to show her that he could be a better man than he had ever appeared as before her.

With these thoughts rushing through him and occupying most of his faculties, he hardly knew where he walked - only that he was progressing at great speed, fueled by his inner determination. It was therefore no great surprise that he did not see the lady rushing towards him across the grounds until she was nearly upon him. He stopped with a sudden exclamation, but by that point it was too late. She had clearly been likewise absorbed by her own thoughts and was unable to prevent her own forward trajectory until they had collided in the most spectacularly undignified fashion.


End file.
